


Without Measure

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Prequel, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Cylon War era. Tom Zarek takes his kindergarten entrance exam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dad -- the original protector of two-tailed rabbits and inverted-spout teapots.
> 
> Thank you to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for the beta and for loving young Tom as much as I do.

Karen Zarek was awakened by the insistent drum of small fingers against her forearm and the buoyant voice of her five year old son crowing in her ear.  
  
“It’s time, Mommy! It’s time. Come on. Come on.” He pulled at her wrist. “Get up.” His vivid blue eyes were full of sharp determination. There would be no deterring such unbridled enthusiasm.  
  
Jerome was sprawled out next to her, knocked out cold. Their dilapidated fan was making a terrible racket, growling like some subterranean monster with each spin of the motor. Usually Karen didn’t even turn the darn thing on but it had been so hot last night. The room was cooler now, the air less thick. She peeked at her clock through eyes still half-lidded with sleep. It wasn’t even half past five. The first light of morning had barely penetrated the line of the horizon. She groaned and rolled over.  
  
Tom wasn’t having any of that. “Mommy,” he pleaded as he hoisted himself up onto the bed, wiggling his torso for leverage. He gave her a light shake. “It’s today. Remember, Mommy? My test.”  
  
How could he think she’d forget? He’d only been reminding her all week. Last night he’d talked a blue streak about it as she put him to bed. Tom was talkative anyway, even when he wasn’t excited. But when he was focused on something, as he was focused now on his upcoming kindergarten entrance exam, her son was a tornado of single-minded energy that swept up everything in its path.  
  
Karen looked at him. He had Jerome’s glossy dark hair and his grandmother’s big blue eyes, fringed with lashes as thick as paintbrushes. When he was a toddler, he was often mistaken for a girl because of them. He gave Karen a winsome smile when he saw her eyes flutter open and she knew she’d gotten as much sleep as her precocious little one would allow for the moment. She ruffled his hair.  
  
“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked as she slid her feet into her worn pink slippers.  
  
“Pancakes and milk.”  
  
“You want to help me make the batter?”  
  
“Yes!”  


* * *

  
  
“Will you be with me all day, Mommy?” asked Tom as he drank the last of his milk.  
  
Karen picked up the empty glass and plate to wash them. “No, baby. I have to go to work after your test.”  
  
“Maybe the test will take a long time,” said Tom, with the kind of enduring hope only a child is capable of.  
  
The raw disappointment in his face made Karen ache. She turned toward the sink and blinked away the sharp sting of tears. At least he didn’t have to go to daycare. Jerome’s mother watched him during the day so he did get to spend his days with family. But Karen knew it wasn’t the same as having her or her husband around. Their workday was long. Sometimes she was so tired when she got home from the factory all she could manage was dinner and a quick bedtime story while Tom entertained himself, in the interim, with his toys. Her husband often worked double shifts just to make sure they could meet their monthly expenses, so he was often even more exhausted than Karen.  
  
Karen glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Can you wake up Daddy?”  
  
“Okay!” She listened to the rapid patter of his small feet as he raced off, like a pint sized whirlwind, to rouse his father. A few minutes later she could hear Tom chattering from down the hall about his kindergarten test, asking Jerome all kinds of questions, barely able to contain his patience for the answers. “Did you go to kindergarten, Daddy? How many kids will be there? How long is summer? Mommy says there are lots of books. Is twenty a lot? Did you know that my name has three letters. One, two three.”  
  
Jerome entered the kitchen a few minutes later with Tom bounding behind him. He gave his wife a quick kiss, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee she’d poured for him. He took a long sip.  
  
“I’m going to pick you up from Grandmum’s today a little early,” he told Tom, digging into the pancakes Karen placed in front of him.  
  
“Really?” asked Tom.  
  
“Really,” said Jerome. He squeezed his son’s nose. “We’ll get ice cream, too.”  
  
“Can Grandmum come with us?”  
  
“Of course. If she wants to.” He gave his wife a sideways look. “Always the diplomat, isn’t he?”  
  
Karen smiled. “I’m so glad you can pick him up early. How did you manage that?”  
  
“One of the guys owed me one and we swapped a couple of hours. I’ll be home even later than usual tomorrow though.”  
  
“What’s a dip-o-mat?” asked Tom.  
  
Karen thought for a moment to find the best way to explain it to her small son. “A person who knows how to make the people around them feel good.”  
  
“I do that?”  
  
“All the time,” said Karen softly.  


* * *

  
  
The walk to school was a little over a mile. While the morning had opened up with a hazy heat, a cloud cover was beginning to cool things down a little. Karen carried an umbrella tucked under one arm just in case. Tom held her hand and they stayed on the sidewalk, stepping over wide cracks and loose stones. Rumors of Cylon forces kept the streets dimly populated. Every day there seemed to be a new alert. Code blue. Code orange. Karen could never keep track of it all no matter how vigilantly she and Jerome followed the news reports. She found the best source of information always came from her neighbors anyway.  
  
“Mommy, my shoes hurt,” said Tom, squeezing her hand tighter as he navigated around a loose stone.  
  
“I’m sorry, sweetie. We’re almost there. Mommy will make sure you have new ones when you start school in the fall. I promise.”  
  
 _Stupid._ She should have had him wear his sneakers and then let him change into the dress shoes when they arrived. He didn’t say another word about it. He grinned and bore it. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That’s what they all did, her people. If she could teach Tom anything, maybe that would be the most important lesson she could give him, knowing what was acceptable to tolerate and what wasn’t. It was one of the few things she and her husband argued about.  
  
When the school came into view, Tom pulled harder on his mother’s hand and she quickened her pace, His smile was exuberant and its effortless sway made her want to float. Education had always been important in her family. Before Saggitaron had become so industrial, Karen’s people were farmers who worked and loved the land. Children were educated by family and community. Although informal, education was highly valued. Karen’s childhood days had been long, maybe even longer than her factory days were now. Even so, she couldn’t ever remember feeling so perpetually tired then, and when she was, it was a different kind of tired. Tired mixed with a sense of accomplishment and purpose -- not the hollow exhaustion she felt each night when she lay her head against her pillow.  
  
Tom seemed disappointed when they entered the barren school with its empty corridors and minimal lighting. Karen reminded him it was summer break and it would be much busier in the fall. _Too busy._ The truth was the schools were overpopulated. Although Karen and Jerome had wanted to have a baby, Tom was born during a government initiative to increase the population -- _the labor force_ \-- said a voice in the back of her mind. These were exactly the kinds of thoughts Jerome discouraged. She squared her shoulders and abandoned that line of thinking but with only partial success. For Karen, the sense of injustice was a constant undercurrent of which she was too well aware.  
  
After introducing herself and Tom to the school secretary, they were instructed to wait for the examiner. They each took a seat on the battered green chairs.  
  
Karen smoothed Tom’s hair. “You look very nice,” she said. He swung his feet, fidgeting a little. “Are you nervous?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Good. Because you’re very smart and I’m already so proud of you.”  
  
Another mother sat across from them. Karen smiled at her and the woman smiled back.  
  
“Kindergarten test?” asked Karen.  
  
“Yes,” answered the lady. “My daughter.”  
  
“Hi,” said Tom, grinning at her with his dimpled smile.  
  
“Her little girl is taking the test, too,” Karen told Tom. “See? There'll be lots of kids for you to talk to and play with next year.”  
  
The door to the right swung open and a tall woman holding a clipboard stepped out. She glanced at her paperwork without looking up. “Thomas Zarek.”  
  
“That’s me,” whispered Tom, looking at his mother.  
  
The clipboard lady didn’t introduce herself so Karen gave Tom a little nudge. “Good luck, honey. I’ll be waiting right here.” She cupped his cheek.  
  
“This way,” clipboard-lady said, finally glancing up from her papers. Tom followed her and the door closed behind them.  


* * *

  
  
Tom followed the lady down a short hallway and into a small, cheerless room that contained nothing but a long table and four chairs. There was one decoration on the wall, a faded cardboard cutout of a rainbow peeking out of the clouds. Tom often saw real rainbows over the factory where Mommy and Daddy worked. He was still waiting for one to appear over his own apartment rooftop but he hadn’t seen one yet. He would keep looking until he did.  
  
“Hello, Tom,” said the lady as she closed the door. “I’m Mrs. Walsh.” She placed her clipboard on the table.  
  
“Hello,” said Tom. “I’m Tom Zarek.” He reached a hand out to clasp hers as Mommy had taught him and gave it a firm shake. Daddy always said no one likes a floppy handshake. Maybe Mrs. Walsh’s mommy and daddy hadn’t taught her about handshakes because her waxen hand felt limp in his. Undaunted, Tom gave her a luminous smile to show he liked her anyway, even if she wasn’t the best hand-shaker. She did not smile back. Maybe she hadn’t been taught about smiles either.  
  
“Please sit down, Tom,” Mrs. Walsh motioned to one of the four chairs. Tom sat at one side of the table, making sure he pushed in his chair. She positioned herself at the other.  
  
“Let’s begin,” Mrs. Walsh said. She placed a sheet of paper, face down, in front of him. “Turn over the paper, please.”  
  
Tom turned it over. He thought it was a bit silly to be asked to rearrange the paper since she could have put it down correctly in the first place -- but he obeyed anyway.  
  
The paper contained letters, numbers, colors, and shapes. Mrs. Walsh gave a series of commands and questions: “Point to the number four. What color is the circle? Point to the letter B. What color is the square?” And so forth. She asked Tom if he could write his name and she handed him a black sharpie to do so. He was much more accustomed to writing with a pencil so he struggled a bit with the thicker girth of the sharpie. It felt unwieldy in his small hand and the scribbled letters weren’t his best printing. Tom frowned, wishing he could erase it and start over. Somehow, he knew she would not let him try again so he didn’t even bother to ask.  
  
Mrs. Walsh took the first paper away and put a second one down in front of Tom. This time she placed the paper with the correct side up, which made Tom even more suspicious that earlier she might have made a mistake. This paper contained five rows of pictures, three small drawings in each row.  
  
“Tom, for this section, you will circle the picture that’s wrong. Do this, please, for each row.” She pressed the sharpie back into his hand.  
  
The first row of pictures were of three rabbits. Tom liked rabbits even though they got into Mommy’s garden and nibbled on her lettuce. The first two rabbits looked like they were identical copies of one another. The third rabbit appeared to be the same as the others, only it faced in the opposite direction. Tom looked more carefully and realized the middle rabbit had two tails.  
  
He scanned the rest of the page and discovered similar anomalies -- a teapot with an inverted spout, a train with no wheels, a ship without a sail, and a sweater missing a sleeve. For some reason, Tom just couldn’t bring himself to circle the two-tailed rabbit with the thick black sharpie. There really wasn’t anything _wrong_ with the rabbit, after all. Maybe circling it would make the rabbit feel bad about being different, and Tom didn’t want to hurt the rabbit’s feelings.  
  
Maybe this was a special part of the test. Sometimes the characters in the fairy stories Mommy read to him at bedtime had to puzzle out a riddle. Sometimes the answer that seemed like it was the right one turned out to be terribly wrong. Maybe Mrs. Walsh was trying to trick him. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that not circling anything was the right answer.  
  
Tom released his grip of the sharpie and placed it on the table with a resolute finality that defied his five years.  
  
“You’re done?” asked Mrs. Walsh, raising her chin disapprovingly as she gazed down at Tom.  
  
“Yes,” he said.  
  
“Very well,” said Mrs. Walsh. “You can go back into the waiting area and sit with your mother. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”  
  
Tom slid out of his chair and dashed back to Karen.  


* * *

  
  
When Tom came back from his test, Karen observed her son was more subdued. He climbed up onto the chair next to hers and leaned into her. She put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head.  
  
“How did it go?”  
  
“Okay,” said Tom. “I didn’t like the last part." He shifted around in his chair. "Can we go outside and play in the playground?” He looked longingly toward the window.  
  
“The gate’s locked for the school playground in the summer but Daddy will take you to the park after ice cream later.” She tipped Tom’s chin up and met his eyes. “Okay?”  
  
He looked unhappy but he nodded.  
  
“Mrs. Zarek?” The office door swung open and Mrs. Walsh emerged with her ever-present clipboard. “Come on in with me to discuss the results.”  
  
Karen dug a book out of her purse and placed it in her son’s lap. “I won’t be long.” She gave his nose a playful tweak and followed Mrs. Walsh down another small hallway into a tiny office.  
  
“He’s a charming little boy,” she said without preliminaries. “Polite. Respectful. He speaks well.” She sat down at her desk without inviting Karen to sit down, too.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Unfortunately, his test results indicate he’s just not ready for kindergarten. Lots of children aren’t. Nothing to worry about. When he's six, he can go right into first grade. Just one more year. I’m sure he’ll do fine, dear.” Her tone was breezy. “If you could just sign this form for me, you can go; I don’t want to hold you up.” She pushed some paperwork toward Karen and slid a pen across her desk.  
  
Karen sat down, swallowing her indignation. _Be nice. Be nice_. “Oh. Of course, I’m very disappointed. Tom was so excited about school and I’ve taught him how to write his name as well as some numbers….and other things. He loves books and is constantly wanting to be read to. Honestly, I’m really surprised he didn’t pass. Could I see his test?”  
  
“I’m afraid not.”  
  
“ _Why_ not?” Karen’s polite control was fading.  
  
“It’s just not customary.”  
  
Karen made a derisive sound. “That’s not a reason. It’s a value judgment.”  
  
The woman scowled. “The tests are standardized and highly regulated. It’s procedure. I cannot deviate from the rules just because a parent is disgruntled.”  
  
“It’s a test for kindergarten, Mrs. Walsh. It’s not an SAT or a college entrance exam. I have a right to know my son’s score and the areas he was weak in, to know how and why he fell short of the standard.”  
  
The woman’s jaw flexed and she pursed her lips. “Fine. Since you’re so insistent, Tom’s test was incomplete. He didn’t finish. Furthermore, he displayed lack of attention and a failure to follow directions.”  
  
Karen leaned forward in her chair. “I wonder….how many children can the school accommodate for kindergarten in September?”  
  
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” the older woman huffed.  
  
Karen smiled. “Humor me.” She relaxed her posture a bit.  
  
“Thirty-six. Two classes of eighteen each.”  
  
“The lady in the waiting room with me was named Mrs. Zaley which leads me to believe appointments for the entrance exam were made alphabetically?”  
  
Mrs. Walsh looked uneasy. She picked up a pencil and waved it in the air emphatically. “I see where you’re going with this. I’m not stupid. And yes -- space is limited. Acceptance in the kindergarten program is competitive. And I do understand your dismay. But accusing me of --“  
  
“No. I don’t think you do understand. So I’m going to be clear.” Karen picked up the form Mrs. Walsh had laid down in front of her to sign and tore the paper straight down the middle. With calm grace, she stacked the two halves neatly and handed them to the baffled woman.  
  
Karen continued. “I am appealing this _decision_. As you stated earlier, my son is polite and well spoken. I imagine he would be quite appealing and sympathetic on camera, in fact. I am willing to wager the news media would be very interested in a story about the local school district barring children from fair access to education with sham tests and a quota that has already been met.”  
  
Mrs. Walsh gasped. “Mrs. Zarek -- “  
  
Karen rose. “I think we’re done here.”  
  
“Wait!” There was a new urgency in the examiner’s voice. “Perhaps we can re-test your son.”  
  
Karen grabbed her purse and shook her head. “I don’t think so. And this isn’t just about Tom. What about the children of my neighbors? My friends? Oh no. You can keep your re-test. In fact, I know just where you can stick it.” Without another word, Karen rushed out of the office to retrieve Tom.  
  
He was in the waiting area, happily chatting with the secretary, sitting in the same chair where she’d left him.  
  
“Hey, sweetie,” said Karen. “You ready?”  
  
Tom tucked his book under one arm and hopped out of the chair. “Yes.”  
  
Karen picked up her umbrella. “Me, too.” She extended her hand and Tom slipped his smaller one into hers so they could begin their walk home.  


* * *

  
  
Karen finished the bedtime story and set the book on Tom’s nightstand. He stifled a yawn but his mother wasn’t fooled. “Another one,” he said in a groggy voice.  
  
“I don’t think so,” said Karen with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “I think I’d like you to tell me a story instead, if you’re not too sleepy. What part of the test was it today you didn’t like?”  
  
“That’s not a story,” said Tom. He looked at Karen like she was very silly indeed.  
  
“Well...okay.” Her smile was soft. “But I’d like to hear about it anyway.”  
  
Tom explained about the pictures and how he didn’t circle anything as well as his reasoning why. When he finished, he looked a little worried.  
  
He blinked. “Are you mad?”  
  
“No,” said Karen. _Not at you anyway._ “I am just as proud of you as I was this morning. Maybe even more so.” She pressed her index finger to the tip of his nose and leaned down to hug and kiss him.  
  
“I was being a dip-o-mat?” His teasing little grin was infectious and she almost pitied the long line of people who would no doubt be enthralled by the sway of such a smile.  
  
Karen laughed and reached over to turn off his light. “Very much so. Goodnight, Tom. I love you.”  
  
“Goodnight, Mommy. I love you, too.”  


* * *

  
  
Karen Zarek was a farmer’s daughter and she understood the value of patience. She did not rush to the nearest news station. Let Mrs. Walsh and her retinue of bureaucrats sweat it out for a while. She honestly hoped she wouldn’t have to contact the press because she’d prefer to spare her young son so much public exposure. But she would do it if she had to. She told Tom and her husband the school would be notifying them shortly with a decision. She did not tell Jerome about her confrontation with the test giver; it would only distress him.  
  
Right at the end of the two week time period Karen had promised herself she’d give the school, she received a typed letter from one Lucinda Walsh. The short missive informed her Tom would be welcome in the September kindergarten class. _You’ll be happy to know the school will be expanding its kindergarten program to fifty-four students. There are also initiatives in the works to make kindergarten a mandatory requirement in Saggitaron, as it is in many other colonies._  
  
Karen put the letter down and smiled, reveling in her quiet victory. Her son would begin school in a couple of months like he wanted to do so desperately. He would not have to “grin and bear it.” He would not be asked to sit back and endure, nor would he have to pay the stinging price of resignation, not in this.  
  
And if she had anything to do with it, not ever.


End file.
